You Aught to Know

Earlier today, I was at the laundromat around the corner and was surprised to find that -- yet again -- a foreign sock had somehow made its way into my laundry while my clothes were securely locked in the washer. The washing machine was empty when I began loading my laundry, so what gives? Is there really a laundry bandit who switches socks between washers just to mess with people? Why are these foreign socks always white athletic socks, and why are they always so stiff? It was then that I decided that someone should open a laundromat -- probably here in Brooklyn would be a good idea -- called The New York Sock Exchange.

You're welcome.

Segue.

I was born in January of 1981. This means that I have round birthdays pretty close to the start of each decade. Actually, nerds would tell you that my round birthdays and the start of new decades coincide exactly, because we count to 10 starting with 1 and not 0 (e.g. I will turn 30 in 2011). This is all to say that new decades are especially significant to me, because I can reflect on my life in chunks of 10 at the same time that the rest of the world does.

First of all, you ought to know (if you remember Pee Wee's Playhouse, scream now) that the media, on which we so rely to tell us how to think, has not decided on an official name for the decade that is about to conclude. I know this, because I went to Google the spelling of 'aught' before I began this blog post. During this Google search, I discovered a New Yorker article from the future (dated January 4, 2010). As this author is obviously some sort of time-traveler, he must have known that I was going to write this post about our not being able to decide on a name for the decade for the very reason that this past decade was a complete mess. Well, thanks a lot, McFly. I guess I'll go another direction with this one.

No, but seriously.

I was having a conversation with a friend just the other day about how I couldn't tell if this decade was difficult for everyone (minus the obvious: large-scale terrorist attacks, Hurricane Katrina, etc.), or if everything just seemed particularly bleak because it was the same decade where we became adults.

I had just started college when 2000 began. Though I loved Virginia Tech academically, I can't say that I loved the social life at that school. No offense to any of the friends that I made there, specifically my lacrosse teammates (who probably will never read this, anyway), but my misery must have been at least somewhat apparent. I spent 4 years trying to understand why I couldn't get it up for Hokie football or keg parties. Don't misunderstand me: I drank a lot and spent a lot of 'days after' talking about how funny 'it' (drinking/puking/making-out/saying and doing stupid things) was just like everyone else. In retrospect, however, I probably could have picked a school that felt like a better fit.

After I graduated from college, I felt completely lost as I was sans job (and life purpose) for about 10 months. I spent the summer bouncing around Virginia, which wasn't so bad, actually. Laura and our friend, Gillian, had an apartment in Charlottesville at the time, so I crashed there for a while. Laura would get home from her serving job at Chili's (BUSTED!), and we would search for career-type jobs on the Internet while watching disc upon disc of Sex and the City. From there, I spent several months in Georgia with my parents, then several months in Virginia Beach with my oldest brother and his wife (all the while, my brother constantly telling me that I would not find a job posting for 'Rock Star', so I might as well just cut the crap and work anywhere), and then finally ended up in Arlington with my parents again once they wised-up and decided to move back to DC.

Things were actually looking up for a while. I finally landed a real job where I kept getting promoted and where I made a lifelong friend. I moved into a house in Fairfax with friends who were in a band and who provided non-stop laughter and general merriment. And then the happiest time of my life: when I fell in love for the first time.

Then, my aunt died suddenly from a heart attack. I got dumped and was completely heartbroken. The landlord decided to sell the house that we were renting, so we had to move out.

It was time to move on. To NYC!

As much as I'll have good things to say about moving to NYC in future paragraphs, it is important to note that the following events occurred during the first year that I lived here (in order):

1. Out of nowhere, my dad decided to leave my mom after 34 years of marriage. He married someone else mere months (3) after the divorce was finalized.
2. The aforementioned lifelong friend that I made at my first job in DC suffered a stroke and sustained significant brain damage as a result.
3. The shootings at Virginia Tech.

Please know that I don't want to cheapen what happened to my friend or the Tech families as if the above events changed my life forever the way that it has changed their lives forever. BUT. If I'm being honest about how I feel about this decade that is about to end, these were obviously relevant events.

I will, however, claim ownership of my parents' divorce. I don't know if having one's parents get divorced is easier when you are younger or older, but I can tell you that the event propelled me into adulthood the way no other event could have. It has defined my mid-to-late 20's, and therefore will also round out the last half of the aughts (in my world, at least).

It would be great to tie this decade up with a neat bow to be placed on a shelf for reflection as if it would be separate from what will happen with the rest of my life (our lives). I might even suggest to VH1 that they proceed with a fucked-up version of their decade-reflection nostalgia showcases: I Loved the Aughts? (The question mark is intentional as it indicates a tone of "Are you serious? This is the decade that we're talking about?")

It wasn't all bad, you guys. However, the assignment wasn't to reassure you guys that I am having a good time in life (I am). The assignment was to reflect upon the aughts as a chunk of 10, which I have done. The truth is that this decade has unfortunately been smeared with a particularly Resolve-resistant kind of shit. No one is going to be able to mention the aughts without 9/11, for example. It is entirely possible, though, that little kids are still having a good time the way we did in the 80's/90's despite the bad things that were going on in the country and around the world then. What those bad things were, I can't even tell you. I was too young and too in love with Cyndi Lauper to care about anything else.

P.S. I neglected to mention this earlier, but on top of everything else, I think they are getting ready to discontinue my mascara! Oh, aughts, will you show us no mercy?!

The Great American Sax Solo

First of all, I think that you should know that I've been planning this blog post for some time now. In fact, the sales receipt from Fiesta Gifts at Albuquerque International Airport indicates that I was struck with the idea on 5/15/2009 some time after 1:59:23 PM Mountain Time (most likely 10,000 feet or higher in the air). We are now less than a week away from Thanksgiving. Just what the hell took so long? I'm not sure exactly.

Often when I'm traveling for work, I think about how it might be a good idea to do something productive while sitting on airplanes rather than just ingesting refreshing Ginger Ale and subsequently thinking about how bad I have to pee. And then it occurred to me: I love the song "Waiting for a Star to Fall" by Boy Meets Girl.

As everyone knows, the allure of "Waiting for a Star to Fall" is indeed the brilliant saxophone solo (and the most well-timed key change in the history of music). In wishing that I had that song on my iPod to satisfy my sudden craving, I began to think about other songs that were carried to the top of the billboards and our hearts by smooth, honking, and sometimes seemingly directionless sax solos. Though it may be hard to believe now, there was a time when crazed female fans in the audience beared their breasts to hard-working, soloing saxophonists instead of lead guitarists.

Yeah, I know.

And so, I handed the flight attendent my empty Ginger Ale can, accompanying plastic cup, and unused napkin (what are those for, anyway?) to set to important work. I fished out the aforementioned Fiesta Gifts receipt for $31.92 worth of 'MAGNET TINY TILE 1X1', turned it over, and began to record every song I could think of where a sax player rightfully - and as it turns out, temporarily - claimed his (and her?) place at the front of the rock n' roll stage. I need to take a moment to thank my friends and family for their unwavering support and contributions to this project. Thanks, you guys.

If you're looking for some good sax, look no further! Ladies and gentleman, allow me to present the most unlikely but soon-to-be most played mix on your iPod (in no particular order except #1, which belongs at #1):

The 10 Greatest American Sax Solos:

1. "Waiting for a Star to Fall" - Boy Meets Girl


2. "Born to Run" - Bruce Springsteen


3. "Careless Whisper" - George Michael


4. "Takin' it to the Streets" - Doobie Brothers


5. "Maneater" - Daryl Hall and John Oates


6. "Never Tear Us Apart" - INXS


7. "The Logical Song" - Supertramp


8. "Tonight's the Night" - Rod Stewart


9. "A Love Bizarre" - Sheila E., featuring Prince


10. ... almost every Billy Joel song ever made in the 1980's, including but not limited to "Just the Way You Are" and "It's Still Rock n' Roll to Me"

Honorable Mentions for Heavy Use of Sax but Lacking Clearly-Defined Solos ...

"Young Americans" - David Bowie
"Mirror in the Bathroom" - The English Beat
"I Still Believe" - Tim Cappello (from one of the weirdest scenes in any movie but it just so happens it is in one of my favorite movies of all time The Lost Boys)

End blog post.

I said WITH CHEESE!

The third rule of blogging is: don’t apologize for having gone months without updating your blog.

Very recently, I helped organize my 10-year high school reunion. Tenure reunion. I won’t really say anything about it, because this guy does a much better job. I love this guy’s writing, and suddenly I remembered that Laura, Stephanie, and I have this here blog.

Here’s something I’d like to know: just what the hell is everyone talking about? I was headed into the city on the L train the other morning, and some seemingly half-drunk, Brooklyn version of a redneck in his 40’s was ranting to his friend about … his son having too many dresser-drawers to choose from? I mean really, I have no idea. This guy was practically yelling on a crowded train, and it was about 8:00 AM. Dude: Shut. Up. He said (yelled) something like, “Man, he’s got a drawer for socks, he’s got a drawer for shirts, he’s got a drawer for pants, and he’s got a drawer for boxers! What the fuck!? In my day, your socks, boxers, and shirts all went in the same drawer!”

You guys. There’s a lot going on in the country and in the world these days and therefore a lot to get fired-up about. However, enraged commentary on this generation’s dresser-drawer luxuries has no place in my ear at 8 in the morning. First of all, calm down. Second of all, is his son recounting the same story to his friends somewhere on the playground in an equally unnecessary volume? “I said to my dad, ‘Fuck you, old man! Times have changed! I’m putting my shit in ALL the drawers!’” Probably not.

More than feeling sorry for myself being trapped less than 2 feet away from this guy for an entire 10 minutes, I felt bad for his friend. The friend was doing his best to be supportive in what was clearly this asshole’s time of need. “Yeah, man. I hear you. What is with all the drawers these days?”

The truth is: people on the subway who grandstand are quite aware of what they are doing. People – stupid people – love to get worked up in public, especially on the train. Whether they have something worthy to rant about or not, they will speak loudly and boast with all they’ve got. “So I said to him, ‘I said WITH CHEESE, mothafucka!’” They know there is a captive audience on the subway, and so they feel they must perform, turning a just-to-pass-the-time story into torture for everyone else. I wish I could tell you that there was something you could do about it, but there’s really not. Perhaps a mocking slow-clap?

Authors note: Allow me to apologize in advance to Will Smith for all of the ‘swears’ in this post.

The Ironic Businesswoman

I began writing this post from Denver International Airport last week in the midst of – you guessed it – business travel. After writing a few lines on a piece of paper, I recalled the second rule of blogging: you are required to use a computer and the Internet. Thus, this post begins now ...

At the time that I began – literally – writing this post, I was wearing a responsible pair of black slacks. Side note: The word ‘slacks’ makes me think of when I was in the 7th grade and we received dress codes for upcoming band concerts. “Ladies: Navy blue slacks or skirt with white Stone Intermediate Band polo shirt. Nice Shoes. Boys: Navy slacks. Nice shoes”. Whenever I can, I use the word ‘slacks’. My airport attire also consisted of a blouse …top …thing. ‘Thing’ is the only way I can think to describe it. Sized ‘S’, this top-thing is actually very large, which leads me to believe that I was inadvertently shopping in the Women’s section of a department store that will go unnamed in this blog. It was Kohl’s. The blouse-thing has flowers on it and was in – from what I could tell – the business-wear section of the Ladies’/Women’s department and therefore guaranteed that any article found there would be meeting-appropriate. I also had on a short-sleeved blazer thing from H&M. I have bought a few textbook blazers since graduating from college, and they have failed me each and every time. Rather, I have failed myself. While interviewing for jobs after graduating from college, I bought an Ann Taylor suit jacket that was 2 sizes too big for me. Not a terribly big deal, but I missed the business mark. While interviewing for jobs in NYC three years later, I bought a linen blazer from United Colors of Benetton. Was I fucking serious? It was summer, so I guess the fabric seemed appropriate at the time. In fact, one particular interview took place on the hottest day of that summer. While trying to navigate to the office in downtown Manhattan from Laura’s then-apartment in Park Slope, I took the linen blazer off to avoid creating massive sweat spots in the armpit and back areas and instead draped it over my arm. Here’s a nugget of common sense: you shouldn’t drape a linen blazer over your arm on the hottest day of the year in NYC! I showed up looking like a rumpled jerk. Did I mention that my dress was also linen? Who wears linen to a job interview?! I did. And they hired me. Back to my airport business outfit; I was also wearing a pair of black flats. Big deal.

I digress. Obviously I didn’t begin writing this blog to discuss the outfit that I was wearing at the airport. Well, partly. Every time I embark on a business trip, which is fairly often, I feel like a fraud. My struggle to assemble a proper business outfit is something you should consider to be supporting evidence of my inability to truly be a you-know-what. Sure, I’m at the airport with a laptop bag on my shoulder and a BlackBerry in my hand like every other asshole there, but I feel like I’m faking it in a way. I hope that you don’t misunderstand me; I like my job. However, I never aspired to be a businesswoman on the ‘go’, nor do I identify myself as one. I have a job, and therefore conduct business. I just don’t want to be that cliché career woman that you see at the beginning of every romantic comedy. You know what I’m talking about. The Kate Hudson/Jennifer Aniston/Cameron Diaz/Drew Barrymore character is seen in her apartment in the morning scrambling to grab keys and put on a pair of designer high-heels as she rushes out the door in her pencil skirt. She stops at a coffee shop to grab her latte and a bagel. She strides confidently into the office, saying ‘good morning’ to everyone and having everyone say ‘good morning’ to her as she makes her way to her desk (the most obnoxious non-truth of them all). As she puts her purse down, someone comes in to either deliver paper phone messages for her or tell her that she’s late for a meeting. If there is a meeting, Interchangeable America’s Sweetheart is leading it and saying something RIGHT ON. I’m a businesswoman! Together! Sharply dressed! In charge!

When I go to meetings with clients, I carry a Five Star notebook of college-ruled paper as well as a plain paper folder to hold documents/handouts. I recently told Laura that it was probably time for me to purchase some kind of nice-looking bag that would ideally hold pens, documents, etc. Laura suggested an attaché case. I see; I’m not the first person to think of this. Ugh, I sound like I’m trying to be cool. “Whatever! 9-5 jobs are so mainstream.” I don’t think that! I think that jobs are necessary and good for the economy. What am I trying to say here? Maybe that I’m having an identity crisis? Again, I like my job and think that what I do is fundamentally important and helpful to society. Then why do I not look forward to explaining what I do to new people? I think part of it is that I live in Williamsburg/Greenpoint and am surrounded by writers, artists, actors, musicians, and other miscellaneous creative-types. To most of them, K-12 technology is probably not immediately relevant or interesting. Also, if I had to admit that I sometimes have to wear a suit-like outfit to meetings, would they punch me? Disown me? Throw me out of trivia night at Pete’s Candy Store (ok, I’ve never actually been)? I’m coming to grips with the fact that I’m somewhere in the middle; I’m me, and I’m ok with that. Free to be you and me, but especially me. I have a job, live in Greenpoint, AND hang out with hipsters (there, I said it). I wear skinny jeans when the mood strikes me AND sometimes challenge myself to construct sentences while at work that contain nothing but business jargon. You guys, it’s ok!

I leave you with this:

Romy: Do you have some sort of business woman special?
Truck Stop Waitress: Come again?
Romy: Well, we’re business women.
Michele: From LA.
Romy: And you know how some places have like a lunch special?
Michele: For business women...
Truck Stop Waitress: We don't have anything like that.
Romy: Ok we'll take 2 burgers, fries, and medium cokes ‘cause we’re in a hurry.
Michele: We're due in Tuscan later... some business thing, you know.
Truck Stop Waitress: What kind of business you all in?

Title: Yeah, We Get It

Dear Girl,

Oh. That’s okay. You can actually wear regular pants to class. I imagine that there’s at least one pair of semi-clean jeans somewhere in your dorm room. Why don’t you use the 5 minutes that it took you to put your hair up in those pigtails and go put jeans on instead. No-no-no, believe me; I get it. You feel that you have a license – nay, an obligation – to not only be comfortable at all times during this period of your life but also to communicate this to the world through fashion. After all, you’ve got a lot of studying to do. First of all, I’m just not convinced that you really slept in those pajama bottoms. Second of all, put some pants on.

Thanks,

Jean

Author's note: Yes, this was already printed in Third Place: The Magazine, but not everyone got to see it there. Would hate for anyone to miss out. Wink face wink face wink face.

So. We've been trying to get a company (Fun, Inc) off the ground for years. Recent events have made me wonder if this jokey, glib, 3 AM business plan might actually have some substance to it.

Because...the thing about real jobs is....most of them suck. Most of the time you don't want to go to them. And when you are there, most of the time you want to leave them. This seems like a very strange way to spend a life. I understand that this could be an attitude problem that is specific to me. But from where I'm standing, the daily compromises it takes to be a human being in the world who can afford toothpaste and only conduct a minimal amount of evil are astounding. Before you can even celebrate your third 25th birthday you are neck deep in a life that consists of too many untenable concepts to mention here.

Too bad that red wine can fail you and sex only lasts like 15 seconds.

Ha. I'm kidding. Red wine never fails me.

My mother very seriously wants to start a company that manufactures and sells rose-colored glasses. Like, actual glasses you wear on your face. She says they do wonderful things for your mood. A few years ago Clare won a silly pair at a raffle or something. They are huge and Elton John-esque with sequins on the tips. On rainy days she puts them on and looks out the window. Apparently, after about half hour the world doesn't seem so dark or menacing and she can set about doing things... like making her signature meal of chicken, white rice and green beans or saying foul things to our cats or searching craigslist for most tragic, most mentally ill displays of humanity.... all with a little extra swing in her step.

I was ready to sweep this into the category of Mom Is Weird, So What? part of my brain but when I was home she made me try on the rose-colored glasses. And no shit. They work. Nothing changes too dramatically, things just seem brighter a tad more whimsical. After awhile, you forget you are wearing them. Until you answer the door and your cousin sighs, tilts her head and shields the face of her newborn child.

Seriously though. The grass is literally greener wearing rose-colored glasses. It's disappointing to take them off and see that "green" is more of a dull army shade. But then you just put them back on. Much better than all these drugs people seem to get involved with.

With all of this pigflurecessiondepression collective freak out I think this may be just what the world needs. Pretty soon all you'll be seeing is cute piglets and sepia toned daydreams of simpler times.

We need $5,000 to develop the product. I have about 80 of those dollars.

Let's have a meeting. Shall we say 3 AM Friday? I'll bring the wine.

Early Blogs

Enjoy these early blogs that I posted on MySpace back when people used MySpace:

Lean Cuisine Observation #1 (Originally posted: March 22, 2006)

I've eaten Lean Cuisine for lunch for the past 2 years. The last cooking direction is, "Let stand for 1-2 minutes. Enjoy!". Should they be so confident? It should be changed to "Let stand for 1-2 minutes, and then see how you feel about it."

I may not be cut out for hipsterville: Reason #1 (Originally posted: October 30, 2006)

A misunderstanding with a small dressing room mirror turned an innocent shopping trip for hipster skinny jeans into a misguided purchase of $70 mom jeans.

I may not be cut out for hipsterville: Reason #2 (Originally Posted: November 3, 2006)

A night out to my favorite neighborhood restaurant suddenly turned sour when my two friends and I attempted to split the bill with 3 credit cards. The previously amicable, army jacket wearing female server took one look at the cards before her and condescendingly spat, "I can't just split three credit cards. First of all, there is a $20 minimum required, AND THIS ISN'T APPLEBEE'S."

Be True to Your Crunch (Originally Posted: February 10, 2007)

Author's Note: Before blogs, there were emails between friends. The blog you are about to read is an exerpt from one such email to a friend dated February 2005

Upon finishing my Fritos Brand Flavor Twists (Cheddar Ranch flavor), I couldn't help but read the Nutrition Facts panel. There was nothing of interest there. My eyes naturally (instead of artificially) wandered over tothe description of the aforementioned snack chips, and I couldn't believe that they were described as the following:

"Fritos Brand Flavor Twists Corn Snacks give you the classic taste of cornwith an added twist - a special shape that means more hearty ALL-AMERICAN crunch ..."

Apparently no one is interested in an all-Japanese crunch or any other foreign crunch for that matter; it's just inferior to any kind of crunch that America has to offer. Basically, we like our crunch to be ALL American.

All I'm saying is, be on the lookout for other ridiculous American snackfood propaganda.

Don't kick a soccer ball (Originally Posted: June 12, 2007)

Don't kick a soccer ball.

If it's raining.

If you have nice flats on with a skirt.

If you're walking in the park.

If the Polish boy yells, "Hey miss! Hey Miss!"

If you do, the shoe will fly through the air with the ball, and everyone will laugh at you.

At least the Polish boy picked it up for me.

Does it have a Balcony?

When I was a little girl I dreamed of having an apartment of my own. Not a house. An apartment. I liked the balconies. I wanted to decorate my imaginary balcony with colored twinkle lights in December and plain white lights during the rest of the year. I imagined dance parties (which could be dangerous), cute patio furniture, aloe plants in big ceramic planters, and paper lanterns. I have never had a balcony of my own. Because of this, I feel I've missed out on a special club. When I visit other apartments I always gasp when I see that they have a balcony and then immediately step outside to see what it feels like or check out the view. If I stay in a hotel, I always request a room with a balcony. You can often hear me say, "AND IT HAD A BALCONY!" If YOU have a balcony and I'm visiting, no matter the weather you can expect me to want to hang out on it... hopefully it will be bathed in sun and there will be a plenty of beverages and (if I'm lucky) some cheese. P.S. I also love cheese.